


Disaster Superstars: the story of a rock & roll explosion

by CalamityCain



Category: Jesus Christ Superstar - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Fights, Hedonism, Internal Conflict, M/M, Multi, Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:54:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25088746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalamityCain/pseuds/CalamityCain
Summary: In 1983 of an alternate reality, one band's meteoric rise to fame will mirror the rapid crash that leads to their disbanding a mere five years later. This is the story -- as told by the members themselves -- of what happened in between, and after. (Written as a biopic film)
Relationships: Jesus Christ/Judas Iscariot, other background ships
Comments: 21
Kudos: 7





	1. Sing Out For Yourselves

**Author's Note:**

> The execution of this biopic-inspired fic takes many cues from Motley Crue's 'The Dirt' and features lyrics stolen from various songs not just of the era, but from the 70s, 2000s and 2010s. (Track list is in the end notes)

Opening titles on a black screen:

_In 5 years, they made their lasting mark on the world_

_with just 3 albums and 2 officially recorded live shows to their name_

_(not including countless bootlegs)._

_And then, as abruptly as they rose to fame, the band came to an end._

_This is the story of the short-lived supernova known as_

_H O S A N N A_

**PART 1:**

**Sing Out For Yourselves**

The distant thunder of drumbeats fade in. Sounds of a live rock show playing to a full arena echo through the scene, which opens on lead vocalist Simon’s back as he walks (or rather, stumbles) through a corridor. His leather jacket has the band name emblazoned on it in red and silver.

SIMON’S VOICEOVER: “They say fame is a fickle mistress. When she’s good, she’s very, very good.”

Simon passes by a half-naked woman who has the band name tattooed on her left tit. She grabs him and they kiss messily before she leaves.

SIMON’S VOICEOVER:

“But from my experience…when she’s bad, she’s even better.”

Simon continues on till he comes to a halt in front of a door with the name _Judas Iscariot_ printed on the sign.

He knocks twice and then opens it. The door swings to reveal Judas the lead guitarist fucking the bassist, Jesus, against his dressing room drawer. Both of them are panting and lost in the throes of their lovemaking, barely registering their bandmate’s presence.

“Oh come on, guys,” says Simon. “There’s a room full of groupies just next door and you’re banging each other?”

He closes the door, turns to the camera and shakes his head as he resumes his journey down the narrow corridor. “Listen, I don’t wanna start this story off with the on-again off-again drama that is these two. We’ll come to it eventually. For now…I got better things to do.”

He opens another door and dives right into an orgy of booze, raucous music and nubile men and women in various stages of undress. Someone drops a bottle; there is the sound of breaking glass. He lands against a topless young man with shaggy blond hair who starts groping him before proceeding to go down on him.

From across the room, the rhythm guitarist Peter waves at him before promptly passing out. Next to him on the sofa is the drummer, Mary, who is unfazed by the proceedings and swigs from a bottle of Stolichnaya.

Simon gestures to her vodka. “Are we out of mixers? What are you, fucking Russian?”

“Jesus was going to get some,” she hollers back.

“Yeah, he’s gonna be occupied for a while.” Simon groans and sways a little at the steady work of his groupie’s mouth. “Fuck, baby, you’re good. How old are you?”

SIMON’S VOICEOVER: “After a scandal that nearly tanked our last album launch – and nearly gave our manager a stroke – we had to make sure everyone at our post-show parties was over 18.”

A magazine cut-out unfolds across the scene with the headline declaring _‘Hosanna frontman makes sexual advances on 15-year-old’_ , accompanied by a slightly blurry photo of Simon next to a smiling fresh-faced nymphet with her arms around him.

Simon climaxes with a whoop and crashes on a beanbag as he clumsily tucks his junk back into his pants. He turns to the tilted camera and says: “If you’re expecting me to say _Oh, but she looked eighteen…_ ” A derisive snort. “You’re wrong. I’m an idiot who should be in jail. It’s just a matter of time.”

The scene moves to where Peter is rising from his coma and blinking blearily. He gropes about trying to find some leverage to raise himself off the floor and his hand lands on a perky breast. “Hey there. Sorry ‘bout that,” he mumbles. The owner of the breast just laughs and squeezes his crotch lightly in response.

“Where’s Judas? And Jesus?” he asks.

The door swings open as Mary says, “Speak of the devil.” The slightly dishevelled couple enter the room and is immediately swarmed by groupies proffering drinks, drugs and themselves.

The scene comes to focus on Judas as he downs a shotglass of something bright blue-green. He turns to the camera and says: “You probably wondering how a bunch of fucks like us manage to put our pants on in the morning, never mind cut a platinum album. I’ll tell you how: by being fucking good at what we do. Perhaps a little _too_ good.”

The scene switches to that of a massive stadium as Simon, his hair wildly teased, belts out one of their hits to an ecstatic audience.

 _“_ _How do you document real life  
When real life's getting more like fiction each day_ _?”_

The camera moves from one band member to another: Peter decked out in leather with daubs of face paint adorning his cheeks as he strums away while backing Simon on vocals; Judas’s fingers sliding lightning-fast on his fretboard as his kohl-lined eyes occasionally bore into the camera; Jesus bent over his custom Fender, dark hair obscuring most of his face; Mary banging out a storm on the drums on a steel frame made to elevate her ten feet into the air towards the finale.

_“How do you write a song  
When the chords sound wrong  
Though they once sounded right and rare?”_

JUDAS’ VOICEOVER: “This is us with our first big hit: a song about not having enough money to keep a roof over your head. Which sounds rich coming from a band that eventually made enough money to blow a thousand dollars on drugs in one night. But it’s the truth. Which is probably more than you’ll get from some sources.”

The scene shifts to the end of the last song. Simon’s face is gleaming with sweat and his eyes with the fervour pouring in from the crowd as he pumps his fists into the air. Mary and her drum set are levitating above their heads as she throws one of her sticks into the mass of adoring fans. Sparks rain down from the rafters to cast them in a golden halo.

JUDAS’ VOICEOVER: “I could bore you with the story of how we met. Which goes like the story of any other band – three friends jamming in a garage, they recruited two more members, put out flyers, worked for pennies doing small gigs. But I’d rather skip to where it _really_ started.”

Fade to another scene taking place about two years prior where the band is recording the song for the first time in a small studio. A brash, boyish Simon is behind the mic laying down the vocals as the music plays.

 _“_ _When the notes are sour,  
Where is the power  
You once had to ignite the air?_

_We’re hungry and – ”_

The music is cut off abruptly and he looks to where Jesus is leaning forward. “Hey Simon? The last bit sounded a bit pitchy. Let’s do one more, from ‘When the notes’.”

Simon glares at him. “You know, maybe I wouldn’t be pitchy if we hadn’t already done twenty fuckin’ takes.”

Judas drives the stub of his cigarette into a full ashtray. “Maybe we wouldn’t have to do twenty fucking takes if you weren’t fucking off key in the first ten.” He gets up to pace the room and gestures to the sound engineer. “One more time.”

The music starts again. Simon inhales deeply, squares his shoulders and does another take.

_“_ _When the notes are sour,  
Where is the power  
You once had to ignite the air?_

_We're hungry and frozen,  
Some life that we've chosen..."_

This time he nails it, and his bandmates nod in satisfaction.

JUDAS’ VOICEOVER: “As we wrapped up late that night, I had a feeling in my bones that our lives were going to change forever. Sometimes that feeling turns out to be wishful thinking. And sometimes…well.”

Cut to the next scene where Mary barges unannounced into the apartment Peter and Simon are sharing. “We’re at number five,” she yells while gripping a newspaper page, crumpled in her excitement. “Over fucking Van Halen!”

Peter – who had been half asleep a second ago – leaps to his feet to grab the paper from her hand. “Fuck off,” he says as his eyes widen. Beside him, Simon is grinning maniacally.

The scene moves to a bedroom in another apartment where Judas puts down the phone on his bedside table, then turns to prod the sleeping form beside him. When he gets no response, he tries a light kick or two, before pulling off the blankets with a hefty tug. Jesus whines loudly in complaint and tries to pull them back up. “Wake up, dumbass,” Judas says. “We’re in the top ten.”

Jesus blinks, the words slowly sinking in. “What…? Really?”

“No, idiot.” Judas breaks into a grin. “Actually, we’re top five. Just below Dokken and Aero-fucking-smith.”

“You’re shitting me!” Jesus’ face lights up. He jumps on Judas and they cling to each other in an euphoric kiss.

JUDAS’ VOICEOVER: “Things moved fast after that. Probably too fast. If it had felt like we worked harder and longer to get there, maybe it wouldn’t have gone to our heads.”

Cut to another flashback: a slightly younger Peter headbanging on a bus while on headphones. As the song in his ears fades off, he opens his eyes and looks out the window. His youthful face is splashed blue and gold and purple from the passing lights.

PETER’S VOICEOVER: “It all happened so fast. I’d never have guessed that this small-town boy on a bus would end up in one of the biggest bands of his era. Sometimes, if you want something just enough, the gods of chance push you through the right set of doors.”

Cut to Peter walking into a smoky club with silver poles reaching into the high ceilings, around which are wrapped half-nude sinuous bodies of both sexes. They grind and contort and slide up the poles to a hypnotic synthwave beat. Like a true bumpkin, Peter gapes openly at this display of nubile beauty until he walks right into the bar.

Mary, who at the time is working as a bartender, smirks at his charming naiveté. “Looking’s free,” she said. “Drinks are not. But I might make an exception for you.”

“You…you don’t mean that, do you?” Peter fumbles for a bit as Mary’s smile deepens into one of fond amusement. “Uhm. I should go.” He starts backing away.

“I do mean it.”

He pauses; moves forward again. “Really? ‘Coz I have, like, twenty dollars to my name at the moment.”

She pours out a scotch. “Are you any good with a guitar?”

“What?”

“I just joined a band. They said I could have the spot if I brought in a guitarist. Rhythm.” She pushed him the glass. “Tell me it’s my lucky day?”

“I…yeah. Yes, I can play.” His face lights up a little before falling. “But I left my guitar back home.”

“And you’re a long way from home,” she guessed.

He nods, crestfallen. She pokes him in the arm. “Cheer up. We have the equipment. You just need to play it and not fuck up.” She pours another shot for herself and raises a toast. “To your new job – if you ace the interview.” He grins and clinks his glass against hers.

In a whirl, the scene rushes forward to the making of Hosanna’s second album – in a well-lit studio larger and plusher than the first. Peter and Jesus dive into the opening riffs to the crash of Mary’s cymbals. Four beats in, Judas kicks in with his black Les Paul, overlapping the grinding rhythm with a series of chords.

The scene moves to Simon warming up and rehearsing before going into the recording booth. He bobs his head and sings the lyrics from a worn piece of paper.

_“_ _One life and I'm gonna live it up  
I'm taking flight, I said I'll never get enough…”_

The song then kicks into full gear, Simon’s vocals lusty and robust. In the following scene we hear the song playing as the band members stand around listening to the finished product. Their faces are a mix of nervousness and excitement.

_“_ _Stand tall; I'm young and kind of proud  
I'm on the top, but as long as the music's loud”_

_If you think I'll sit around as the world goes by  
You're thinking like a fool;_ _it's a case of do or die  
Out there is a fortune waiting to be had  
If you think I'll let you go, you're mad  
You've got another thing coming”_

Simon’s eyes are wide as he slumped into a chair in relief. “I think we got something, guys,” he said.

Judas exhaled a thin cloud of smoke. “You’re goddamn right we do.”

Next to him, Mary turns her head to the camera and says: “I wish I could say this was the start of great things. But just five songs into this album, the cracks started showing.”

In the next scene, Judas is cutting lines of coke on a glass table that Simon promptly swerves into and crashes on. The glass surface breaks, sending crystalline dust flying into the air. Judas swears loudly and whacks Simon up the head; the latter proceeds to try and snort the remnants caught in the carpet as Peter giggles in the background.

Mary waves away a cloud of white dust, coughing, and says to the camera: “Not that there weren’t good times aplenty. If by good you mean…memorable.”

Cut to a brief, chaotic shot of a hotel suite curtain catching on fire and someone’s slurred voice shouting unintelligibly. Jesus enters, grabs a blanket off one of the beds, and tries to help put out the fire. But the flapping of the sheet fans a flame that nearly burns him before Peter pulls him back.

The next scene shows the band members standing in the corridor as a small team of firefighters stream in and out of the room. “I didn’t start that,” Simon says, breaking the silence. Judas just rolls his eyes.

MARY’S VOICEOVER: “I know what you’re thinking. But no – our biggest problem wasn’t the drugs. Drugs were just the surface.” 

Cut to a backstage scene; Simon is adjusting his new codpiece (a snarling silver dragon) while Peter makes some last-minute tuning adjustments to his guitar. Mary enters the dressing room, half-empty beer bottle in hand. “Have you seen Judas?” The two guys shake their heads. “Not since like…an hour ago,” said Peter.

She moves on to another room, knocks and pushes the door open. “Jesus, have you…” She looks around the room; it appears to be empty, before her eyes finally fall on the figure slumped in the corner.

Mary sighs and drops to her knees in front of him, swigging the remainder of her beer. After a few seconds, she asks: “When did the fight start?”

“This morning,” comes the sullen reply. Jesus is hugging his knees to his chest. His head falls listlessly against the wall.

“Well, you made up in time for the last show. Any chance of that happening again?”

“Why don’t you ask _him?_ ” Bitterness creeps into his voice as he pulls himself to his feet with some effort and reaches for his guitar. As he bumps into the dressing table, a small plastic bottle – its cap carelessly half-fastened – spills its contents all over the floor. He curses and bends to retrieve the scattered white pills.

MARY’S VOICEOVER: “Shortly after his relationship with Judas took a turn for the worse, our bassist found a friend to help ease his troubles. Its name was Valium.”

Simon and Peter come sauntering in. “Any luck?” asks Peter.

“Nope,” she snaps. “Spread out – we got like ten minutes.”

Their manager, James, pokes his head in to announce: “Five minutes!”

Mary groaned. “Drag him in by the hair if you have to.”

“Are you kidding? I’m too young to die,” says Simon.

“Says the person who inhaled his body weight in coke two nights ago.”

“Uh, the person scraping pills off the carpet shouldn’t be talking. Why are you even on that junk?”

Jesus shoved the refilled plastic bottle into his back pocket. “Because I’m not far gone enough for heroin. Yet.”

MARY’S VOICEOVER: “By some miracle, all five of us made it onstage. We were fifteen minutes late. But luckily, we were big enough to play the rock star card.”

The scene transitions to Simon striding out to the roar of the crowd as the thunderous riffs kick in and they dive right into the second album’s hit single. _“_ _One life, and I'm gonna live it up!”_ Simon belts into the mic with a fist in the air. Flames shoot up around the edges of the stage, cueing the fans to go wild. To his left, Jesus and Judas strum and sway in synchrony as if they hadn’t been at each other’s throats for the past few hours.

JESUS’ VOICEOVER: “May 1985: one of the best shows we ever played. You can feel it when the energy is right: it’s just electric. What happened backstage was another story.”

The shot zooms in to his pearl-white Fender. When it pulls out, we see a teenage Jesus walking through the corridor of a low-cost flat and stumbling upon a battered guitar case.

JESUS’ VOICEOVER: “I’d only ever read stories like that as a kid listening to records in his room. I never dreamed it would happen to an unremarkable boy whose only crime was stealing a broken guitar.”

Teenage Jesus lifts open the lid and his eyes light up. He glances about before snapping it shut and running off with it.

Cut to him sitting on a park bench, plucking a bluesy tune for loose change thrown by passers-by into a hat. One of these passers-by comes to a halt in front of him. He looks up to see a burly, balding man with a ponytail and slight paunch studying him with narrowed eyes. “So you’re the punk who stole my guitar,” he says.

Jesus just stares back for a while before realizing the game is up. “I fixed it,” he says, a little surly. He hands the guitar over. The man hums in admiration at his fine repair work.

“You’re pretty good. I can make you better.” The man gestured with a flick of his head. “I’ve seen you before – Block B, right? I’m just at the end of the row. 402. You want free lessons, you could do worse.”

The man sauntered away with the guitar, and Jesus’ eyes followed him as he bent down to grab his earnings.

JESUS’ VOICEOVER: “He taught me a few things, alright. But they weren’t free.”

Cut to the dim interior of the man’s apartment as he slides a hand beneath Jesus’ jeans and kneads the pert flesh beneath. Jesus’ face is unreadable in the shadows. He doesn’t resist when the greedy lips press against his and another hand lifts his shirt to squeeze his slim boyish waist.

JESUS’ VOICEOVER: “The day I grew tired of letting him conduct his lessons behind his wife’s back, I left and took the only thing of value he’d given me.”

Cut to Jesus running frantically with the guitar as the man shouts curses at him. He rounds a corner and bumps into a small group of mean-looking boys, one of whom greets him with a snaggle-toothed grin. “Hey dude.”

“That creep from 402 is after me,” Jesus pants.

The boy glares at the man’s approaching figure. “Yeah, I know that guy.” He raises his voice and jabs a finger. “Back off, or we’ll tell everyone you’re a fuckin’ pedo!”

The burly man shakes his fist at them, but it’s clear he’s somewhat intimidated by the thuggish group. He mutters a string of colourful insults as he lumbers off. The snaggle-toothed boy throws a tattooed arm around Jesus’ slender shoulders, nodding to his stolen treasure. “You wanna play us a tune?”

JESUS’ VOICEOVER: “So that’s the slightly sordid story of how I lost my virginity to a middle-aged pervert. And how I met my first boyfriend. He was the first in a string of assholes, even if you don’t count the latest one.”

We’re back in the present day, and Jesus and Judas are both going at each other as they exit a hotel room where another after-show orgy is taking place. Their fight has escalated past the stage of scathing verbal insults and is moving into the realm of the physical.

JESUS’ VOICEOVER: “In short, I wouldn’t know a healthy relationship if it hit me in the face.”

As if on cue, Judas strikes out at him squarely in the face. He shoves Judas and sends the latter reeling into a wall before storming off. Peter stumbles naked into the hallway, holding a jacket to his crotch. “What’d I miss?” he slurs.

Judas just growls in return and stomps back into the suite where the party is hitting full swing, pushing aside a groupie who tries to kiss him. Simon yells something in his direction, which he ignores as he goes into the adjoining room which houses expensive-looking white leather furniture and a large TV. He aims straight for the television set, grabbing it – ripping the wires straight from the wall – and barrels toward the window with an animal roar.

Cut to the outside of the hotel where James and a roadie are walking in with more booze and mixers. A TV suddenly crashes down onto the road in a massive shattering of glass and plastic shards, just narrowly missing James by an inch or two.

As they both shout and curse in shock, James collapses on the spot and the roadie crouches beside him in alarm. From the window above, Peter peers down at the wreckage and what appears to be their dying manager and exclaims, “Ohhh shiiiit…”

SIMON’S VOICEOVER: “We learnt two important things that night. One, angry Judas and crystal meth equals the Incredible Hulk. Two, James had a heart condition he never told anyone about. The disaster that was our lead guitarist nearly killed him with shock.”

Cut to Simon and Judas sitting outside a hospital ward, Mary standing and leaning against a wall beside them. “He’d better not die, or you could go to jail, man,” says Simon.

Judas is leaning forward, forehead pressed into his palms, apparently crashing from his meth-fuelled high. “Says the perv who fucked a girl whose tits weren’t even out yet.”

“For your information, her tits were _very_ developed.”

“You are both disgusting,” says Mary quietly but vehemently.

Simon shrugs, accepting the label. Judas digs out his half-full pack of Camels and is about to light up when a nurse clears her throat and gives him a dirty look at odds with her polite tone. “Sir? This _is_ a hospital.”

“Right.” He gets up and walks to the nearest exit. With a sigh, Mary drops into the seat next to Simon. “How bad was the fight this time?”

“I don’t know. Sounded no worse than usual to me.”

“Jesus said they’d started since morning.”

A brief flashback of Simon and Peter walking past the hotel room shared by the couple. They pause when they hear a series of worrying thuds and the sounds of a struggle. Peter calls out frantically while pounding at the door, which is eventually opened by a dishevelled Jesus, his shirt half torn off. “You uh, OK in there?” asks Peter. Before Jesus can reply, Judas approaches from behind and pulls him into a rough kiss. They start groping each other on the spot.

“Yeah, but by the afternoon they were fucking like it was going out of fashion.”

Back in the present, Simon and Mary look up as the doctor who was tending to James emerges. “How is he? Can we see him?” asks Mary.

Cut to her, Simon and Judas in the ward in the midst of a conversation with James, who looks well enough if less animated than usual. “The doc says if I stress myself out much more, I’ll straight up have a stroke. Become a goddamn vegetable.”

“That’s heavy, man,” says Simon. “Listen…I know we haven’t been easy to…we give you shit all the time – ”

“We appreciate you, James,” Mary adds, gripping his hand.

“Hey, hey. Don’t get all sentimental. You guys have been responsible for the most fun I’ve ever had in my life. Sadly, the best cure for me right now is less fun and more…I dunno, managing the next Spandau Ballet or something.”

“You think Spandau Ballet doesn’t do drugs?”

“Yeah, Judas, but I don’t think they’ve thrown a TV out a window yet,” said Mary.

“Fair enough.” A pause. “I’m sorry. I promise not to do it again, alright? Stop looking at me like that.”

James sighed. “This is a suckfest of a way to break up with a band. You guys have become my best friends.” He looks almost tearful for a second before smiling. “But at least there’s no hate between us. Right?”

The door opens and Peter enters with a gift basket, Jesus right behind him. There is a large fading bruise across his nose and right cheek. A palpable awkwardness fills the room as Peter approaches while Jesus seems frozen in place two paces from the door.

“Alright. Let me make things easier for everyone.” Judas gets to his feet and leaves, ignoring Mary’s attempts to stop him. He doesn’t even glance at Jesus, whose eyes are filled with new hurt that he tries to blink away.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers after Judas is gone. “If I hadn’t been fighting with him…if I hadn’t made him mad – ”

“Hey, man. Takes two to tango.” James beckons to him. “Don’t bear that weight all on your own.”

The shot closes in on Simon, who says to the camera: “We didn’t realise this till it was too late – but when James dropped out of the picture, the sharks that had been circling all this while started closing in.”

Cut to a shot moving through a glossy, intimidatingly stylish office and zooming into a black and gold logo with bold letters spelling ‘ROMA RECORDS’. Pull out to show a smaller version of the logo hanging on a backdrop of a plush office, at the centre of which sits an immaculately groomed man radiating confidence and a paternal air.

SIMON’S VOICEOVER: And one of the biggest sharks in the sea was Joseph Caiaphas.”

In his office, the band members are gathered, their faces a mix of scepticism and cautious optimism.

“You know, we get promising acts walking in every so often. So few of them deliver on that promise. Bands like Hosanna are the exception. But even superstars will burn out early if no one is there to cultivate the fire.” Caiaphas leaned forward. “Galilee Records can only take you so far. And I can tell you don’t have a plan, or you wouldn’t have agreed to be here today.”

“We’re not exactly struggling to get on the radio. We’ve done sold out shows all over the country. And we’ve another album on our contract with Galilee.” Mary crossed her arms. “What are you putting on the table?”

Caiaphas smirked in response. “Get you out of the country, for one.” He shrugged. “Can’t say you’ve made your mark on the world otherwise. Cinderella hasn’t even had a hit in years, and they’ve played Berlin and Osaka. I’d say it’s time Hosanna showed them what real superstars are.”

The scene transitions to the bandmates boarding a plane for their first international tour. They pose for a photograph that lands on the centre spread of a magazine, looking triumphant and excited.

Cut to the spectacular finale of a show in Budokan, Tokyo as Peter and Jesus toss guitar picks into the crowd and Mary bangs out a furious drum solo amidst a shower of indigo sparks.

SIMON’S VOICEOVER: “The man knew how to stroke our egos. He gave us just what we wanted, and more. We just didn’t know how much he would take in return.”

The stage goes dark, and the Budokan crowd calls out for an encore in a chant they made for the occasion: _“Ho-sanna, hey-sanna, sanna sanna-Ho-sanna-hey, sanna, Ho-sanna!”_

_  
. . . TBC . . ._


	2. The Suffering, the Quick and the Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things slowly slide to hell
> 
> (This took forever to upload partly because of AO3's slightly wonky text formatting which necessitated an hour of editing just to fix paragraph spacing)

Several months later, the band are back at work on their third album, with Peter, Judas and Jesus laying down the guitar riffs with the backing of a session keyboardist. In the background we hear Simon’s demo vocals:

 _“Well, you can bump and grind  
If it’s good for your mind  
Well, you can twist and shout _ _– ”_

Peter abruptly stops. His bandmates follow suit as the woman at the keyboard frowns quizzically. “I’m sorry,” he says in an uncharacteristically sharp voice, “but I stand by what I said earlier.”

Jesus looked up. “Which is…?”

“We sound like we’re trying to be a, a Queen rip-off or something. That’s what we’d be doing if we were still playing in Judas’ garage.” Peter threw up his hands for emphasis. “We’re not a cover band in a bar. We sell out arenas, for god’s sake. We’re better than this.”

“Seconded,” said Judas.

Jesus shot him a quick dirty look, as if suspecting him of siding with Peter on purpose. “Can we finish the song, at least?”

“Mary agrees with me.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” says Peter hastily, perhaps a little too late. Judas intervenes and gestures to the sound engineer. “Take three. Let’s get this shitshow over with.”

As they start over, the fully recorded song plays over the scene with full orchestral backing. It’s a significantly different sound from the grit and relentless beats of their previous work.

 _“Well, you can bump and grind  
If it’s good for your mind  
Well, you can twist and shout  
Let it all hang out  
But you won't fool the children of the revolution  
No, you won't fool the children of the revolution,   
No, no, no..."_ _  
_

JUDAS’ VOICEOVER: “In hindsight, it was a solid song and a perfectly good album. Or it would have been, if it had been made by another band.”

Cut to the five of them at a dive bar, half-empty glasses of beer crowding the greasy table. “I just feel like people are gonna know it’s not us – that our hearts aren’t in it,” says Mary. “We sing of revolution and changing the world, but the words are empty. And you know it.” She sighed and laid down her empty glass firmly. “I vote for taking back control. Caiaphas is not in charge of our creative decisions.”

“Yeah, but…different doesn’t mean bad, Mary.”

“Seriously, Simon? You of all people, bowing to the man?”

“More like sucking his goddamn cock,” Judas mutters over his beer.

“Judas, may I remind you who took your side in that TV incident?”

Jesus glares at Simon. “You what?”

“OK, before you two start again – ” Peter holds out a hand as Mary squeezes Jesus’ shoulder supportively. “I don’t want this to tear us apart,” she says. “We didn’t survive this long for nothing. But if we don’t make something that we’re proud of, how can we go out there and play and pretend we’re still the same band?”

As murmurs of agreement floated about the table, the shot focuses on Judas, framed in a halo of smoke. “Mary talked a good game,” he says to the camera. “And for a short time, we even believed it. Until the day she played us out.”

Two days later, the band are in the studio, waiting for their frontman. “Where the hell is he?” Mary seethes as Judas’ pacing slowly but steadily picks up speed until it gets on his boyfriend’s nerves. “Will you stop doing that?” Jesus mutters softly.

“Make me.” The two short words are loaded with venom.

“You’re not _still_ mad about the toaster, are you?”

“That toaster was special to me and you threw it out on purpose!”

“I threw it out because it hadn’t been functioning for two years!”

“And yet I haven’t thrown _you_ out.”

The room went silent for a beat. “That’s below the belt, dude,” said Peter.

Jesus grabs the pack of cigarettes from the coffee table and goes towards the window in an attempt to chuck it out. “You cunt!” Judas hisses as he tries to wrestle it back. “Come on, guys,” Peter groans. “For fuck’s sake guys, what are you, five years old??” exclaims Mary as she tries to pull them apart with Peter’s help. The fight is diffused somewhat by a shattering sound outside the door as Simon stumbles in.

“You’re two hours late,” Peter tells him flatly.

“Did you break that vase on your way in?” asks Mary.

“It was ugly anyway. I always hated it.” Simon looks like he has just fallen out of bed; his shirt is rumpled, a layer of scraggly stubble over his chin. “Listen, sorry for being a late idiot…is everyone OK?” He’s referring specifically, of course, to the disaster couple in the corner. Judas has just managed to wrestle the crumpled box of Camels back into his possession.

“Everything’s fine,” mutters Jesus as he leaves the room. He doesn’t quite slam the door, but closes it just loud enough to make a statement. Mary groans loudly and drives a fist into the nearest wall.

Cut to a news excerpt with the headline _‘Mary Magdalene quits Hosanna; rumours of internal conflict abound’._ A blurb on a trashy magazine screams _‘Hosanna headed for premature death? An insider source spills all’._

JUDAS’ VOICEOVER: “Long story short, we were left without a drummer two songs into the album. It didn’t help that the lurid stories of sexcapades and drug orgies were blown way out of proportion – even if, as that slimeball Caiaphas liked to say, no PR is bad PR.”

Jesus is standing in the shade of a payphone on a neon-lit street, music from various strip bars spilling onto the pavements. He looks tired and anxious as he clasps the receiver. “Sure you won’t change your mind?”

We can almost hear Mary’s wistful smile on the other end. “It’s a little too late for that, J. Like two months too late.”

“It’s not the same without you.” He pauses. “We miss you.”

“ _You_ miss me. And I miss you. But you’re all better off without me.”

“You know that’s a lie.”

She sighs. “I’ve always been straight with you, J. The truth is… _I’m_ better off. I feel sane for the first time in two years. Like I’m not trying to down a whole bottle to numb myself to the chance that _one_ of you is gonna kill themselves. Or that I’m gonna do the same.”

He couldn’t help laughing a little. “Well, if it’s us or you, I know who deserves to live more.”

“Where are you right now?”

He shifted on his feet. “Somewhere I don’t really want to be.” In the distance, we hear Simon calling Jesus’ name. Jesus ignores him.

“Come over, then.”

He lowers the receiver, looks over to where Simon is trying to stay steady on his feet while making out with a tall stripper dressed as a gladiator. “I’ll be there in a bit. Give me half an hour.” He hangs up, wondering if he should tell the others, before whispering “Screw it” and disappearing into the night.

The shot moves past Simon and his stripper and into the depths of the club into the private room from which Caiaphas is emerging. In a corner of the room, Judas is making short work of a bottle of whisky; on a glossy leather couch, Peter is snorting coke off a woman’s naked back as a neat, mild-mannered, forty-something man looks on. He appears utterly out of place in his surroundings. In the next scene, he’s playing the drums in isolation, guided by a demo track recorded earlier.

JUDAS’ VOICEOVER: “Luke was a good guy and a decent drummer. But he was never fully part of the band. His name would be in the credits, but he would never appear in a single publicity shot or as more than a blip in the news. As far as everyone was concerned, we were supposed to carry on with the illusion that nothing had changed.”

Cut to Simon alone in a sunlit room with a piano. There is a dog-eared notebook in front of him with lyrics scribbled in his untidy hand. He plays a few tentative chords before segueing into a confident rhythm and singing the words.

 _“You swore and said we are not  
We are not shining stars  
This I know; I never said we are  
Though I've never been through hell like that,  
I've closed enough windows to know  
And you can never look back" _ _  
_

The scene transitions to the band playing the same song in an unplugged show with a small audience in an intimate setting. There is a feeling of warmth in the air that had been sorely lacking of late.

_“But I'd like to think  
I can cheat it all  
To make up for the times I've been cheated on  
And it's nice to know  
When I was left for dead, I was found  
And now I don't roam these streets  
I am not the ghost you want of me"_

All of them join Simon for the chorus. For a brief moment, they seem happy and years younger, filled with nothing but music.

_"If you're lost and alone  
Or you're sinking like a stone,  
Carry on  
May your past be the sound  
of your feet upon the ground   
Carry on…  
Carry on, carry on.”  
_

Simon looks into the camera over the microphone and says, “This was one song that never made it onto the album. We all agreed it was too special.”

A few freeze-frame scenes – Jesus and Simon singing into the same mic; Judas’ fingers a blur as he plucks an impromptu solo on his acoustic guitar; the enthusiasm of the audience, their faces lit in dim gold.

SIMON’S VOICEOVER: “Judas had promised he wouldn’t quit until we saw things through. He made good on that promise. The moment the third album was done, he walked.”

A slightly shaky shot catches Judas striding out the door, pursued by Peter and then Jesus. “Do you ever stop to think about anyone other than yourself?” Jesus yells at him, enraged and near tears. “Did you ever care about us? About _me?_ ”

Judas whirls around. “I think we both know it was _you_ who walked away first! Why do you need me when you have _her?_ ”

“…what? You mean…Mary? That’s just – we’re just – there’s nothing between us…” He makes one last attempt to grab Judas’ arm, but the man slips out of his grasp and disappears through the shiny doors of Roma Records. Peter puts an arm around Jesus’s shoulders. “Let him go, man,” he says. “You deserve better.”

On the small TV screen in the receptionist lounge, a recording of the band’s unplugged performance is playing. The music sounds tinny and desolate as Jesus stands watching Judas’ retreating back.

_"If you're lost and alone  
Or you're sinking like a stone,  
Carry on...  
Carry on.”_

SIMON’S VOICEOVER: “The period between our lead guitarist taking off and us piecing ourselves back together was a bit of a blur. To me, anyway. It was a depressing few months for Hosanna, and we all had ways of self-medicating. Our manager made sure we were well supplied. Anything to keep more of us from running.”

A slightly blurred or disorienting montage of scenes shows a candle being lit, and fumbling fingers dropping a meth pipe as it shatters on the floor. A phone rings insistently like an alarm clock. A hand reaches for the receiver, another hand grabbing the bottle of pills beside it. In a dim private room of a gentleman’s club, Simon looks up in a half-daze as a dark-skinned youth wearing scraps of gold straddles his lap while Caiaphas – looking as immaculate as always – lays a stack of bills on the table.

Cut to the making of a video as a monster truck pulls onto the set and the director calls:

SIMON’S VOICEOVER: “At one point I was so fucked up that we made a music video I have no recollection of shooting.”

The film director calls out: “Rolling. And…action!” The truck comes to a halt.

There is a pregnant pause as everyone waits for something to happen. “Action!” the director hollers again. After five whole seconds during which we hear exasperated muttering off-screen, Simon finally emerges from the truck door as he was supposed to…and proceeds to fall flat on his face. “Fuck me,” someone groans as a crew member scrambles onto set and prods Simon with her foot.

SIMON’S VOICEOVER: “All I heard was Peter yelling that the walls were after him because he and Jesus had ingested three bottles of mushroom juice between them.”

This narrative runs over a scene of Peter insisting, with growing volume and conviction, that “they’re all mad at me. I didn’t do anything! Tell them to stop _picking on me!”_

“Cut! Quiet on set, please!” yells the assistant director. Peter, who is clearly beyond such mundane instructions, wails loudly while flailing and sprinting off set. He passes by Jesus, who is sprawled on the floor. “What are you doing?” asks Luke. “Watching the flowers,” comes the enigmatic reply. The drummer just shakes his head and doesn’t ask any further.

SIMON’S VOICEOVER: “One incident I do remember with absolute clarity: an encounter with the remarkable women who called themselves the Plaster Casters.”

Several consecutive pictures show two attractive grinning women, one blonde and one brunette, posing with a gallery of plaster penises. The detailed reproductions of male genitalia are displayed with plaques on which are inscribed the names of rock royalty.

Cut to the living room of a modest semi-D that apparently belongs to Luke. He seems a bit ambivalent about having being persuaded to let his house be used for this particular purpose. The purpose in question being capturing a faithful likeness of Simon and Peter’s endowments.

“Shame we couldn’t get your ex-guitar man along for the ride,” says Cynthia. Golden-haired Cynthia Albritton, the artistic visionary, mixes the gel-like substance she uses to create the initial mould while her dark-haired friend Dianne skilfully teases Simon’s cock with her hand – and occasionally her tongue – so as to cast it in its full glory.

The doorbell rings as Luke excuses himself and slips into the kitchen. “Come in, door’s unlocked,” calls Peter. Jesus enters, looking like he hasn’t slept in days. He stops short and blinks at a scene he was clearly not expecting.

“I…uh…thought we were meeting the new guitarist.”

“Oh, he’ll be along later.” Simon beckoned drunkenly. “Grab a drink. For fuck’s sake, don’t stand there like a statue unless you’re getting your cock out.”

Jesus stares at the hardening shaft being transformed into a mould along with a portion of Simon’s testicles. “Are you getting a…plaster model of yours?”

“Yes, and don’t be such a prude. It’s _art._ ”

“We’re all getting it done, by the way,” says Peter with a sharp giggle, high on something other than the Jack Daniels he and Simon are passing between them. “It's for the next album cover.”

“I’m just going to assume you’re joking.”

Simon gestures to his dead serious face. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

Luke pops in briefly from the kitchen. “Oh, hi, Jesus. Hey – do you guys want spinach puffs after you’re done? I can make extra.”

“Do you need help?” Jesus volunteers hopefully. Simon waves a hand at him. “No, dude, come on! You’re next. You and Peter can do it together.”

“I’m _not_ doing it.”

“Oh come, love, it’s a package deal,” says Cynthia. “And we’re not charging. As Simon says, it’s an art form.” Dianne, with a deftness born of extensive experience, unbuttons Jesus’ jeans and slides the zipper down, her hand already inside his briefs before he manages to stumble back in alarm. “No, it’s fine, I’m not – ”

“Hendrix was her first customer, y’know.” says Simon, knocking back a swig of bourbon. “Don’t you want to be immortalised beside Jimi fucking Hendrix?”

Before Jesus can reply, a familiar voice on the radio playing softly on a shelf catches his attention. With one hand guarding the front of his pants, he walks over to turn up the volume.

_“If you think I'm wrong  
If you think I'm right  
Gotta play it strong,  
Gotta put up a fight…”_

Peter’s head jerks up, gaze finally pried from the hypnotic sight of his own cock being lovingly immortalised. “Is that…Mary?”

The music swells and takes over the scene, which moves to the interior of the Hammersmith Odeon where Mary is singing, backed by Joan Jett on guitar.

_"Keep it close in hand  
till you understand  
You can't take the biggest part,  
It's not in my plan_

_I gotta hold on to me;  
I gotta hold on to me”_

JESUS’ VOICEOVER: “Hearing her on the airwaves was at once uplifting and depressing. The sound of her voice, her drums, made me realise what we were missing.”

The Odeon performance continues, both women full of electric energy that they pour into the crowd, who give it back tenfold. They hoot and cheer when Mary and the famous Blackhearts frontwoman exchange a kiss before tearing into the chorus.

_"You can't take away my soul  
You can't break me 'cause I'm in control  
this time I won't let go  
You can't take away my soul  
No, no, no, no…”  
_

A few quick overlapping scenes show the two of them collaborating on Mary’s debut solo album in a mix of candid footage and photos: recording music, laughing over a beer, poring over scribbled lyrics, leaving a dive pub with hands around each other’s waists. Over all of these a Kerrang! magazine feature unrolls with the proclamation _‘Marching to her own beat: Hosanna ex-drummer’s triumphant solo outing’._

JESUS’ VOICEOVER: “I should have been happy for her. Part of me was. But the part of me that wasn’t sunk deeper into a vortex of numbness. I let myself be sucked into it, because the alternative was worse.”

Back at Luke’s place, the door swings open to admit the new guitarist: a slender boyish personage whose teased hairdo is at odds with his shy demeanour. “Hi. Uhm. I’m John?” he says tentatively as if unsure of his own name, although it’s also likely that his uncertainty stems from being faced by the two exposed cocks covered by a layer of hardening gel. “I’m uh. Auditioning for rhythm guitar. For Hosanna. Is this…the right venue?”

“Yes. It is,” says Jesus hastily, being the one to blush awkwardly despite having none of his junk hanging out. Peter at least has the decency to cover his crotch, somewhat belatedly, with a magazine. “Excuse my bandmates – they’re participating in an art experiment.” The Plaster Casters smile and wave at John.

“Also, it’s lead, not rhythm,” Simon chimes in. “Peter has yet to abandon us.”

“Oh. Oh nahh. I could never replace the legendary Judas Iscariot.”

“Legendary’s a strong word. I wouldn’t waste it on him,” says Jesus with more than a little spite.

“Right. Sure.”

“That’s a nice guitar. An Ibanez?”

“Yeah. An Artstar.” John lights up like a bulb at the favourable comment, momentarily forgetting the oddness of the whole phallic art situation. “I blew at least three quarters of my life savings on it. But I mean, this _is_ my life, y’know?”

“Do you need to set up? We should probably do it in another room…” Jesus looked around. “Let me ask Luke – ”

“No, come on mate, do it right here. Sockets are behind the sofa if you need to plug in your equipment.” Simon adjusts his own ‘equipment’ as it emerges smoothly from Cynthia’s gel shell, and John is torn between looking away and staring in fascination. He clears his throat and fumbles a little connecting his cable to the plug point. Mercifully, there are no more dicks in sight when he’s ready to play.

By the time he slides through a quarter of Alice Cooper’s ‘I’m Eighteen’, the band looks certain they have a winner on their hands. “I don’t think we need to audition anyone else,” Peter murmurs. Once he settles into a groove, John plays with the confidence and ease of someone years older, although he stumbles when his eyes happen to meet Jesus’. “Sorry. Let me redo that…”

“You don’t need to. You got the job.”

John blinks in disbelief. “Serious?”

PETER’S VOICEOVER: “John was a good kid. Almost too good for a bunch of fucks like us. We had some trouble convincing him to take Judas’ place – he was afraid fans wouldn’t accept him, being such a contrast to his predecessor. But it turned out the contrast was a good thing. And Caiaphas knew just how to market him.”

Cut to a promo photoshoot featuring the new band lineup, but mostly a series of pictures with just John and his Ibanez. The art director overseeing the shoot, evidently on a directive from their manager, tells John to “fuck the camera with your eyes. Just your eyes. And move the guitar just a little lower…yeah. Little bit lower.”

“Any lower and I’ll be showing everything,” John protests. He adjusts the flesh-coloured underwear, trying to make them less tight around his privates. “Do these come in a less…translucent shade?” His remarks go largely ignored as the makeup artist enters the frame to touch up his face and adjust the lock of hair framing his youthful features seductively.

“That’s just standard issue. Don’t worry about it,” comes the dismissive reply. “Come on, sweetheart. One more fuck. Use your eyes. Use your pretty face. You won’t have it forever.” John gives his best attempt, which is more painfully awkward than the last one. “You’re wasting our time, sweetheart. Either get it out or get out.”

“This is too much,” Jesus mutters, pushing his way through the crew until he’s face to face with the director. “You can’t talk to him that way.”

“Says who?”

“Says all of us. If you disrespect our guitarist, you disrespect the band.”

“Huh. Well, look at Mister Moral High Horse who’s clearly _never_ used his looks to get anywhere.” The man runs his eyes all over Jesus in a way that makes his skin crawl, but he stands his ground until the director grudgingly calls for everyone to take five.

John pulls a towel around his waist as Jesus takes him aside. “Listen. You don’t have to do this if it makes you uncomfortable.”

He hesitates. “I’ll be fine. I guess.”

“You _guess?_ Or are you sure?”

“ _You_ did it. I…I’ve a poster in my room where you and Judas are – ”

“Yes. Well. I may have been high at the time. But no one forced us to do it, or made us feel like our careers depended on it. Or that we’re letting everyone down if we don’t.”

John blinks slowly, absorbing those last words. “I’m…not letting you guys down?”

“The only way you could let us down is to suck during a show.”

The young guitarist blooms like a flower at Jesus’ smile. “Oh, good. ‘Cause y’know, to be perfectly honest – I have no idea how to make my eyes fuck a camera.”

The scene cuts to black.

The next setting is a blurred bedroom that flickers into focus from the point of view of someone trying very hard to be awake. A song is playing on a slightly fuzzy radio frequency: sharp and bluesy and brimming with vitriol.

_“I should have quit you a long time ago  
Oh yeah, a long time ago.”_

Cut to Peter groaning and rubbing his puffy eyes before the song catches his attention, and prods him awake with dawning realisation as he says blearily to the camera: “One fine day, we woke up to the fact that Mary was not the only one to reap the rewards of leaving us.”

_"I wouldn't be here, my children  
Down on this killing floor  
I should have listened, baby, to my second mind…"  
_

Peter reaches over to the radio to adjust the knob until the fuzz clears and the syllables crystallize into knife-edge sharpness. He pulls the radio towards him to turn up the volume and ends up disconnecting the wire, cutting off the song abruptly. “Fuck,” he whispers.

PETER’S VOICEOVER: "This subsequently led to the discovery that few things make better hit material than a revenge song about your ex-boyfriend. We were hoping for Jesus’ sake that it would fly under the radar. Naturally, it became one of the biggest singles of the year.”

In a bustling diner, the song plays over the speakers during a top 40 show. Somewhere else, it wails from a neon-lit jukebox, the gritty, almost sardonic guitar licks punctuating each line that paints a rather vengeful story of the singer leaving his ex.

 _“_ _They try to worry me, baby  
But they never hurt you in my eyes  
People worry, baby, I can't keep you satisfied_

_Well, let me tell you baby  
You ain't nothing but a two-bit, no-good jive.”_

In a radio interview with the new Hosanna lineup, the question inevitably crops up as the DJ says, “We had your former lead guitar man on the show just last week, and he refused to confirm the rumours circulating what is now known as his breakup revenge song. Jesus, you wanna shed some light on that?”

His shoulders tense as if he’d been anticipating the question. “No.”

“How do you feel about the insinuations?”

Jesus shrugged. “I mean…I’d like to believe that he wouldn’t stoop to that level of pettiness. That would just make him a sad, vengeful person. We’re all trying to carry on with our lives, you know?”

“True. Especially with the tough times you’ve been going through. I heard Mary left the band under less than ideal circumstances as well.”

“There are no ill feelings between us anymore. Mary has moved on. I’d suggest my ex do the same, if only he’d talk to me.” There is just a faint trace of bitterness despite his light tone.

PETER’S VOICEOVER: “His searing hit single aside, Judas did indeed appeared to have moved on. In every interview, he waved off questions about his former bandmates. Hosanna seemed to be merely another notch in his history.”

This anecdote from Peter plays over a snippet of Headbangers’ Ball where Judas and Lemmy Kilmister are being interviewed about performing and touring together. The host, Smash, diverts the topic momentarily to ask Judas: “So, when can we expect your solo album? Or the Judas Iscariot band?”

“I’m not too interested in an entire album, to be honest. It’s great for some, but for me it’d just be self-indulgent. I’ve always been into either doing my own thing or working with others. Lemmy’s been great. Motorhead’s been amazing.”

“And you’ve been keeping busy. You were on the ‘Raise Your Fist’ album with Alice Cooper.”

“One of the greatest honours of my life.”

“Your ex-bandmate was touring with him last summer, wasn’t she?”

His smile freezes just a little, the corner of his mouth twitching. “She was.”

The two seconds of silence is all Smash needs to pick up the hint. “Alright…so…Give us the dirt on Motorhead. How’s it been working with these legends?”

PETER’S VOICEOVER: “We would’ve been more caught up in this well-publicised relationship drama if not for the discovery that all of the music we had made for the past four years wasn’t even ours.”

Cut to Mary in a hotel room with her legs apart, one foot hooked on Joan Jett’s shoulder, the latter working her fingers skilfully and steadily as Mary pants her way toward an orgasm. “Oh god…oh fuck…fuck… _fuck!_ ” Her hands grip the sheets; her face glows with sweat and bliss. Her head falls back as she rides out her climax with a groan.

Joan tumbles onto the bed beside her. “Feel better now?”

“More than I thought was possible,” she gasps as Joan kisses her.

“Good. You’ve been snappy all day and wouldn’t tell me why.”

Mary hesitates before speaking in a rush. “I just discovered this morning that every song Hosanna has ever made is the record company’s intellectual property, and that I can’t even sample ten seconds of my own drum track.”

“What?” Joan’s eyes go wide. “Bullshit.”

Just then the phone on the bedside table rings. “I gotta take this. Sorry.” Mary drags her lazy post-coital limbs far enough to reach for the receiver. “J? Is that you?”

“I got your fax. What do you mean ‘we own nothing’?”

Cut to Simon’s head abruptly jerking up from the taut belly of a lithe young man, the same white powder on the naked expanse of skin smearing his nose and lips. “What do you mean we own nothing?” he mumbled into the phone held clumsily to his ear.

“Not for the next twenty years, at least,” says Peter on the other end.

“The FUCK. Wait. No. Fuck off. He can’t do that!”

“I guess they can.”

“Horseshit!” The man whose body he had been snorting coke off rises and scurries away as he kicks over a chair in outrage.

Roughly an hour later, the band members are confronting Caiaphas in his plush office: Jesus and Peter forming a calm front, John fidgeting nervously beside Jesus. Simon is standing and attempting to pace, but mostly swaying somewhat alarmingly on the spot.

“The long and short of it is, we’d like to revise the terms of our contract,” says Jesus.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible until the year is up.”

“But you _are_ in a position to – ”

Caiaphas cuts him off with an infuriatingly calm gesture. “Do you know how many bands march in here suddenly unsatisfied with their cut? The very same bands we catapulted to fame. The same ones who let that fame get to their heads.”

“It’s not about ego or suddenly wanting more,” Peter interjects. “All we want is what we worked for. What we bust our asses for.”

“And what you want has changed, hasn’t it? Or did you only learn to read yesterday?”

Jesus inhales deeply in an attempt to rein in his anger. “Look, maybe the fault lies partly with us. But surely we’re within our right to renegotiate.”

“You absolutely are, once the contract period is over.” He holds up his palms. “What…so I’m now expected to move time itself? Every musician thinks I can wave my fingers like a genie and change the fine print overnight. They don’t take into account the legal complexities of the document they willingly signed. Not that I expect them to. That’s my job.”

Simon’s fist hits the table, toppling a plant in a glass jar that John narrowly saves from shattering. “Your job is being a lying _cheat._ How many millions has Roma Records cheated out of those before us??” His volume rises steadily with every word. Jesus lays a hand on his shoulder, but he swipes it away. “You swindling little SHIT!”

“You may call me a swindler, and other variations on that insult, but you’d be wrong. I am perfectly within the law.”

“YOU’RE A WORTHLESS CUNT IS WHAT YOU ARE!”

There is a mighty crash as Simon, fuelled by both anger and cocaine, flies straight at Caiaphas in a hurricane of wildly swinging fists. The taller man narrowly dodges him, but the Hosanna frontman has all the fury of a rabid rottweiler. He manages to leave a trail of destruction before finally cornering his target and pummelling without restraint. Peter, Jesus and John have to throw all their weight into pulling him off while also avoiding the punches that appear not to care where they land as long as Caiaphas is within radius.

By the time Simon reels backward, restrained on both sides by his bandmates, their manager is a battered. heap in a pile of broken glass, surrounded by furniture in various degrees of damage. The receptionist – accompanied by a handful of colleagues – enters the room and gapes at the aftermath of Simon’s attack.

“We are so fucked,” Peter says. Beside him, John is as white as paper.

JOHN’S VOICEOVER: “At that moment, I realised I had gotten onto a rollercoaster without checking how high the slopes were, or whether the safety guards were working. Barely two songs into what was going to be our fourth album, Hosanna plunged right into a…well, it’s what my mom would call the eye of the shitstorm.”

An excerpt from a news segment on TV shows the anchor’s crisp announcement: “In other news, Simon Zealotes of the hard-partying hard rock band Hosanna attacked their manager in what is reported to be a drug-fuelled rage…” This is overlapped by a snatch of another report: “…is being sued for assault and damages to…”

This fades to an entertainment news broadcast making the pronouncement that “More troubles continue to plague the superstars of Hosanna. After losing first their drummer and then their lead guitarist, their frontman now faces charges from Roma Records and band manager Joseph Caiaphas…”

Throughout all this coverage, the band members’ faces are splashed across the scene as if they are all somehow conspirators in the act, even though Simon’s face – scowling or grinning maniacally by turn – is front and centre.

The band are now gathered in Luke’s house, the very same place where two of them had had been the subject of phallic-themed art, the drummer paces and orbits them like a nervous moon.

“That’s the first time I’ve seen you look like you regret something,” Peter tells Simon anxiously. “It’s terrifying.”

“What was the verdict?” asks Jesus.

“Bail is set at twenty thousand. Or up to a year in jail. Might be reduced to six months.”

“Six months.” Jesus looks like he’s about to pass out from stress. “We can’t afford to lose our frontman for six months.”

“I’ve been a shithead. I’m sorry. I’ll pay the fines. Won’t have much in the bank after that, but good thing none of us have families to support, eh?”

“I send money to my mom each month,” Peter mumbles.

“Well, you’re not the one being sued for property damage and grievous assault." He sighs. " _Grievous_ , my ass. I didn’t even break his nose! Wish I had.” 

JOHN’S VOICEOVER: “Simon ended serving just twenty-one days after paying off most of the damages inflicted on both our manager and record company. I should probably say ex-manager. After the incident, we were passed into the hands of what Luke privately called a different shade of slime.”

John’s narrative plays over a scene of a short, smirking man emerging from a sleek sedan and greeting the remaining three band members, Simon still behind bars. “Hello, boys. Exciting times. New beginnings. Let bygones be bygones, eh?” he says in his cheerful, slightly grating voice and claps them on the shoulders as if they’re old friends.

Peter smiles uncomfortably, then turns to the camera and adds: “None of us trusted Annas further than we could throw him. But what choice did we have?”

Cut to Luke laying down the backing beat along with Jesus on bass. The show pulls out to show John in the foreground making a few amendments to the lyric sheet.

“What are you doing?” asks Peter.

“Oh. Uhm. Making notes…on what we can change.”

“What changes? We didn’t discuss this.”

“Oh yeah. No. I mean…we just don’t think a word like ‘faggot’ is, y’know, appropriate. In this context.”

“Who’s _we?_ ”

John flushed a little. “Jesus says he’s not too on board with it, and I gotta agree.”

Peter grabs the printed lyrics with a frown. “I’m sure Simon had something specific in mind when he wrote these.” He scrutinises the rest of it. “You know what, I agree. Let’s scrap that.” John nods eagerly. “Just…look, we’re a team, OK? Jesus doesn’t make _all_ the decisions around here. If you feel weird about anything, you’ve got to let the whole band know.”

John nods again. “Got it.”

As he continues going through the lyrics, John sneaks a glance at Jesus, strumming away on his favourite pearl-white Fender, and smiles like a schoolboy in love.

The scene shifts to a flashback of John strumming an acoustic guitar in his bedroom while a Hosanna record blares on his dresser. Above his bed, occupying a place of honour amid other band posters, is a large black-and-white pinup spread of Jesus and Judas resting languidly in each other’s arms, covered in nothing but artfully placed shadows. Judas seems to have mastered the art of eye-fucking the camera; the bassist is a little more coy, leaning with closed eyes against his partner’s tattooed shoulder as if falling asleep.

There is a knock on his door, and John hastily pulls down the tapestry sheet that blocks the poster from view. A forty-plus woman sticks her head in. “We’re going to pick your brother from the airport in ten. Are you coming?”

“Sure.” He puts his guitar aside and rises.

“You’re not wearing _that,_ are you?”

He looks down at his butt-hugging, dark purple leggings. “What’s wrong with them?”

She shakes her head. “Your dad already disapproves of your music. This is not gonna help you win any arguments.”

“I’ve given up arguing. And Dad still has one son to be proud of."

“Well, _I’m_ proud of _both_ of you idiots.” 

“I know. Maybe someday you’ll actually have reason to be.” He smiled.

A relentless beat brings us back to the present. The band – newly reunited with their lead vocalist – is performing a new song for a feature on The Tube show, as part of a teaser promo for their upcoming album.

_“All my friends are heathens, take it slow  
Wait for them to ask you who you know  
Please don't make any sudden moves  
You don't know the half of the abuse”_

JOHN’S VOICEOVER: “The dark, moody sound of the album that never happened probably reflected the state we were in. It was strange how…out of touch we were with each other, despite being in the same room. And none of us realised this until it was almost too late.”

The music fades out over a small, idyllic country house where the band is refining the last few songs before going into recording. Cut to the cosy living room where Simon and Peter are poring over sheets of lyrics, Peter on his guitar, Simon scribbling out lines and replacing them with new ones. “We should make room for a solo here,” he says. “Hey, John. You got the beer?”

“Only Coors. They were out of Löwenbräu.” John lugs a cooler over.

“You know that bit you’ve been working on? Could you modify it to fit the key of Heathens?”

“I can try. I think I can make it work.”

“Cool. Awesome. Where’s Jesus?”

Peter frowned. “I haven’t seen him in the past, like, hour.”

“No worries. I’ll go grab him.” John goes to one of the bedrooms and knocks on the door. He calls out once, twice, three times. There is no response. He twists the door handle to find it locked. After a brief bout of frantic twisting and pounding, he runs back to the others. “He’s not answering and the door’s locked. Should I panic?”

“Maybe he’s taking a dump.”

“Our bedroom doesn’t have an en suite.”

A second passes before Simon goes, _“Shit.”_ He and Peter rise as one to join John in throwing themselves at the door, joined seconds later by Luke who has come to see what the panic is about. “Jesus is in there,” a wide-eyed Peter informs him. “He might be in trouble.” Luke doesn’t ask any questions, but throws his shoulder against the door along with the rest. They manage to break the lock, tumbling in a chaotic heap into the room. Jesus is lying in bed and looks to be asleep. He has not stirred in the least despite the commotion. His face is calm, colourless, like a serene death mask.

John whimpers in dread and pulls Jesus into his arms. “He’s not breathing,” he wails. As Simon makes an emergency call, Peter – almost as pale as his unconscious bandmate – leans in to try and discern signs of life. “He _is_ breathing. Just barely. He feels like ice.” He squeezes the limp hands in futile hope that rubbing warmth back into them will make a difference. When nothing seems effective, he concentrates on comforting John instead, who is cradling Jesus’ head to his chest, a breath away from sobbing uncontrollably.

Behind them, Simon hovers uselessly about, phone receiver still in hand. Cut to a closeup of his foot nudging a small cylindrical plastic container at the foot of the bed, emptied of its contents.

SIMON’S VOICEOVER: “In that moment I felt shittier than I’d ever been. Not even the time I spent in jail could compare to that terrible low. I knew my stupid, rash actions had contributed to this –our bassist, in trying to hold the mess of a band together, had been pushed to ride the Valium train to his doom.”

Cut to a shaky shot of Simon in the back of a speeding ambulance as the medic plunges a syringe into the lifeless form on the gurney. After a terrible five seconds in which nothing happens, Jesus jerks back to life with a sudden intake of air, prompting Simon to lapse into tears of relief. Jesus falls back into unconsciousness shortly after, but the immediate danger has passed. The scene zooms in on Simon’s haunted gaze as he holds tight to his bandmate’s hand.

SIMON’S VOICEOVER: “The same night I vowed never to so much as breathe in the direction of coke again, was the same night another disaster would happen. Death, having been cheated of our bassist, would claim another life in revenge.”

Back at the country house, Peter is talking to John over a beer. A cluster of empty Coors bottles fill the coffee table before them. “Sorry you had to get dragged into all this,” he says, his lowered head heavy with regret. “I didn’t want any of it to happen to you. You’re a good person.”

“So are you,” says John.

Peter shakes his head. “Not the way you are. I used to be like you.” He stares into the distance. “At least I was into my twenties when I let myself get sucked in…which isn’t saying much, admittedly. Most guys I know are idiots until they hit the big 3-0, and even then.” He takes a swig of lager. “You’re like, what, eighteen?”

“Twenty-one. Twenty-two this October.”

“Right. Barely legal.”

John smiles, then starts trembling, putting down his half-full bottle before he drops it. “I thought…” His breaths catch in his throat as if trying to choke him. “I thought he was going to die.”

“We all did.” They both go quiet for a while. “You’re in love with him, don’t you?”

John’s hesitation is all the answer he needs. “How obvious is it?”

“Oh, we all noticed like five minutes after meeting you.”

This time his smile lingers. “Really?”

“Stevie Wonder would’ve noticed.”

An awkward giggle escapes him. Peter squeezes his shoulder. “I need to go for a drive – clear my head. Might ask Luke along. You wanna come? We can grab a bite.”

John shakes his head. “Not hungry.”

“Alright…well. Don’t stay up too late.”

“I won’t, dad.”

Peter pretends to cuff his head while calling out for their drummer. Minutes later, the two of them are coasting down an empty road, Luke in the passenger seat. The windows are down, a bracing wind whipping through their hair.

“I’m sorry,” says Peter after a stretch of companionable silence. “For everything. On behalf of all of us, I mean.”

“It’s OK, man. I already knew what a disaster you guys were when I signed on.” Luke smiles his easy smile. “Actually, you guys ain’t shit compared to Sabbath. Those fellas really knew how to get blitzed.”

“And we don’t?” Peter pretends to take offense.

“Have you ever snorted bugs off a pavement in a dress with dollar bills stuck up your butt crack?”

“ _What?_ ”

“Exactly.”

“Still…y’know. I know we took you on as a session drummer, but we should’ve made more of an attempt to – ”

“Make me feel like part of the band?” Luke shrugs. “To be honest, I’m kinda fine with not getting my dick sucked before and after every show, or waking up in hotel rooms without recalling how I got there. Maybe I’m too old for that shit now.”

“Oh come on. There’s more to it than that.”

“Well. If there is, I’m open to being introduced to it.”

Peter grins. “We’ll make sure of it.” Then his smile fades and he sighs. “Fuck. I hope Jesus will be alright.”

Luke lays a hand on his shoulder. “My sixth sense has almost never been wrong. I’ve a feeling he will be.”

“And you? Are you sure you’re, you know, happy?”

“I think I’ve every chance to be.” He glances at the road ahead, then yells “Look out!”

A truck has just emerged from an adjoining road. Peter reacts several seconds too late. Luke is yelling something as he wrenches the steering wheel sharply while slamming on the brake. The car slows down, but not enough. Not nearly enough. All he can do is scream. “FUCK – ”

When the blackness lifts, Peter is crying and yelling for help, uninjured save for a few cuts to his face and hands. His seatbelt is stuck; he can’t get out. He can’t escape the dead man slumped across his lap, Luke’s wide open eyes staring at nothing.

. . . . TBC . . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LYRICS TAKEN FROM
> 
> Children of the Revolution (T.Rex)  
> Carry On (Fun)  
> No Soul, No Control (Suzi Quatro)  
> Lemon Song (Led Zeppelin)  
> Heathens (Halestorm version)
> 
> NOTES:  
> (1) Peter’s bad mushroom trip was inspired by a real thing that happened to an ex-colleague whose disastrous shroom experience included elderly women scolding him from the walls. Mine was a lot more peaceful and mainly involved flowers with faces and interesting patterns in carpets, which I also couldn’t resist including in the scene.
> 
> (2) Cynthia ‘Plaster Caster’ Albritton was technically a solo artist, but I wanted to make her and her sometimes-partner Dianne a team for added fun.
> 
> (3) The legend of Ozzy Osbourne snorting ants off the ground is half-verified with differing accounts from first-hand witnesses; Black Sabbath guitarist and Ozzy's bandmate Jake Lee insists it was a spider. I compromised by sticking to the general territory of bugs.
> 
> (4) The car crash -- for which i apologize -- might be familiar to anyone who knows the tragedy that befell Razzle of Hanoi Rocks in '84.


	3. The Noise Will Still Continue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was going to post the Appendix aka 'Extra Info No One Asked For' as a separate chapter, but since this one is quite short compared to the other two, I decided to include it here.
> 
> P.S. my End Notes appear to be a bit screwed up, because I'm seeing my notes for Chapter 1 appearing at the end of this chapter too. Please excuse any confusion. AO3 has been very screwy for me of late (and I hope only for me).

The scene opens with a blur of sound and people-shaped blobs, each melding into another. One or two voices cut through, issuing orders with authoritative urgency. This first-person view switches to a small huddle of medical personnel and a doctor adjusting a tube through which a constant flow of water flushes out small white pills into a container.

Cut to brief closeup shots of dark-lashed eyes fluttering, occasionally blinking open to reveal shrunken pupils. The scene shifts back to a first-person view. The ceiling above seems to be constantly moving; the lights are uncomfortably bright, pulsating like small white suns. This disorienting symphony of sensations fade in and out as blackness creeps into the edges, then outward, then inward again until everything is drowned in oblivion. All is dark and silent for a second.

Cut to John slumped half-asleep in an uncomfortable armchair beside a hospital bed, jerking abruptly to attention as he hears the first signs of life from Jesus. Rubbing the fatigue from his eyes, he inches closer to the bed. A tinge of colour has returned to Jesus’ face, but the fluorescent light brings out the shadows beneath his closed eyes, suggesting he has not slept well for some time. He murmurs briefly, incoherently, before falling still again.

John pulls himself close until he is within kissing distance. He bites his lips, clearly tempted to press them against the other’s. A tight shot shows John’s face hovering above, his breath tickling the temptingly soft lips.

He pulls back with a longing look and settles for intertwining his fingers with Jesus’ own, rewarded by the twitch of the hand attempting to clasp his in return. With his other hand he touches the soft dark hair, tracing it down to where it ends in delicate wavy tendrils.

“Oh, hi. Are you his boyfriend?” John looks up to find a nurse smiling warmly down on them.

“Uh, I, uhm – ”

The sound of a swinging door interrupts them. Simon turns up just in time, bearing vending machine snacks. “Is it OK for him to have visitors?” he asks the nurse.

“No more than three at a time. And try to keep it down. Visiting hours are till eight thirty.”

Simon nods and shoves a bag of M&Ms at John. “Here, eat something.” He pulls up a spare seat and drops down beside John. With his guard down, he looks both exhausted and troubled. “I have some bad news. Terrible, actually.”

“What is it?”

“Not telling you until you shove ten of those in your mouth.”

“Seriously?” John tears open the packet and obediently downs a handful of chocolate-coated peanuts. After which Simon sighs and proclaims heavily: “Peter and Luke got into an accident. They hit a truck.”

“Shit.”

“Peter is alright. It wasn’t technically his fault – he had the right of way, not the truck driver.”

Dread creeps into John’s wide eyes. “And…Luke?”

Simon doesn’t say anything. After a few seconds, his eyes still fixed on the floor, his shoulders and hands start shaking. John realises he is crying. He gasps and clutches Simon’s knee. “No. It can’t be.”

“You know what’s really awful? I’m not even crying for Luke.” Simon wipes his face. “It’s Peter. He’s a mess. He won’t stop going on about how it’s his fault, that he’d been drinking…that he was the one to suggest a drive…” He shakes his head as his voice turns hard. “It’s just. Stupid accidents happen. That fuckwit of a truck driver didn’t look where he was going, and now one of my best friends is going insane with guilt he doesn’t deserve to bear.”

John puts one arm, then another, around Simon’s hunched shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“No, _I’m_ sorry.” Simon sniffs. “For being so full of my own shit that I didn’t see how it was destroying people.”

“Well, I mean. Everyone’s messed up in their own way.”

“Not you, though.” Simon smiled through swollen tear-streaked eyes. “You’re a good kid. No, really. You deserve to be in a band that’s not fronted by a shithead like me.”

“I didn’t hear the rest of that, but I agree,” says a familiar, sardonic voice.

They turn to see Judas behind them, looking slightly jet-lagged. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Moscow?” Simon asks as John merely gapes at him.

“I was.” He walks up to Jesus, who is slowly stirring to full consciousness. “…thirsty,” he’s murmuring. “Water…please. I’m thirsty.”

With uncharacteristic tenderness, Judas cradles his head and shoulders while lifting a glass to his lips. A sip or two is all he can manage, but he sighs in relief.

“You’d better not die on me, asshole,” mutters Judas. “Or I will smack you back to life so I can kill you myself.”

The dark eyes blink open to meet his. “Judas?” Jesus’ voice is a hoarse whisper. “You can’t be…” He tries to cough, but it clearly hurts him to do so. “My throat feels like shit.”

“Probably because they stuck a tube down it to flush all the crap you swallowed out of your gut.”

“Aren’t you on tour right now?”

“Obviously not.” His sharp tone is at odds with his look of fierce concern. “Caught a last-minute flight back because some idiot I still have feelings for decided to try and off himself.”

“I didn’t…I wasn’t intending to…” Jesus looks like he might cry, but seems too exhausted to start. He slides his hand towards Judas’; their palms meet and their fingers entwine in the very same way John had held Jesus’ hand earlier. Briefly, we see John looking intently at them, both love and envy written on his face.

“Listen,” Judas says after a stretch of silence. “About that stupid song – ”

“I don’t care,” Jesus whispers. “I mean. I used to. Not anymore.” He brushes the clasped hand with his lips. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

“Oh, so _we_ don’t matter?” Simon pipes up, his brazen front back on.

He turns to see his two bandmates for the first time. “Simon. John.” He smiles. “Thanks for saving my life.”

Simon shrugged. “All I did was call an ambulance. I think Peter attempted some CPR, which didn’t seem very successful.”

“Where’s Peter? And Luke? Are they OK?”

The two of them exchange a quick sideways glance.

JOHN’S VOICEOVER: “We kept the truth from him then, afraid it would affect his recovery. He found out soon enough though. Hospitals have TVs, after all.”

A few days later, Jesus is on the way out of the hospital reception, Judas’ arm around his waist, when he comes to a sudden halt. Judas follows his wide-eyed gaze to where a photo of a smiling Luke and Peter is splashed over a TV screen, against a backdrop of a half-mangled car. _‘HOSANNA GUITARIST ACQUITTED OVER DEATH OF DRUMMER’_ proclaims the blurb in bold capitals.

Jesus gasps and sways on the spot, Judas’ arms steadying him as his knees give way. “Did you eat anything during your stay here?” the latter grumbles while guiding him to the nearest chair.

“Luke is dead,” he says in a hollow voice.

“Evidently.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“Because they were afraid you’d go back into a fucking coma.” Judas wraps an arm tightly around him until he stops shaking, another hand rubbing soothing circles on his back.

“I guess it’s over.” He draws a steadying breath. “I don’t know if we can go on.”

Judas shrugs. “Life finds a way. People move on.”

“Some do. Others keep making the same mistakes.” He sounds numb, momentarily devoid of feeling, as Judas helps him to his feet and guides him through the hospital doors. But his drawn face lights up when he sees the person waiting to pick them up. “James!”

Their former manager envelopes him in a bear hug. “I’m supposed to drop Judas at the airport,” James says. “Glad I got the chance to catch up. You look a bit shredded, but better than I feared.”

“Airport?” Jesus turns to Judas. “You’re leaving for Moscow – already?”

Judas looks more than a little conflicted. “I’m co-headlining, with Lita Ford. It’s kind of a hard gig to back out of.”

Jesus bites his lip. “And you didn’t tell me.”

“Don’t look at me like that.” Judas takes his hands; he resists only for a second. His head drops in resignation.

“When will you be back?”

“In less than two weeks. Time flies; you’ll barely notice. I’ll call you.”

Cut to Jesus and James saying goodbye outside the departure hall. Jesus slips his hand into Judas’, who pulls him in for a kiss. They cling to each other with a need bordering on desperation, only pulling away to draw breath.

“Stay busy till I get back. You’ll be fine.”

Jesus is trying to hold back tears, with limited success. “I haven’t been fine for a long time.”

“Didn’t have to tell me that, you prick. Now I’ll spend all my time worrying about you.” Judas wipes away the wet streaks on Jesus’ face, his own eyes glistening. He cradles Jesus’ head, thumb tracing the nape of his neck, fingers buried in the softness of his hair. “Why do you have to be such a mess?”

A brief flashback shows teenage Jesus running down a corridor holding his stolen guitar. He looks over his shoulder; his face is fearful but also defiant, with a flicker of hope.

Present-day Jesus leans into Judas’ chest, clinging on as if for dear life, savouring the arms encircling him tightly in return. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me,” he murmurs.

“You should raise your standards then,” Judas scoffs, and kisses his forehead.

“ ‘Scuse me, incoming,” James says, looking on the verge of tears himself as he throws his arms around both of them. “Always loved you tragic disasters from the day I met you.” To Judas, he says: “I’ll take care of your boyfriend. Go knock those Russians’ socks off.”

The three of them stay in their odd group hug until a cool female voice announces the boarding call over the speakers.

Cut to the remaining band members and James gathering in Luke’s house to pick up a few of their belongings and equipment they had left there. Midway through, Peter breaks into uncontrollable sobs. His mates gather round him as he buries his face in Simon’s shoulder.

JOHN’S VOICEOVER: “We tried to pull through. We really did. But Luke’s death was the last nail in the coffin. I don’t know if Peter would’ve been better off serving time. Getting away with nothing more than a DUI fine only seemed to worsen his guilt.”

We see John in the midst of throwing a last few items into a duffel bag. His eye catches something on the wall: a photograph fastened clumsily with cellophane tape. He peels it off with sad fondness. It’s a picture of a newly recruited John posing with the band, all of them pulling silly faces. Luke has his drumsticks stuck up his nose.

JOHN’S VOICEOVER: “Two weeks later, the band I had been a part of for less than a year officially came to an end.”

There is the faint sound of a large motorbike outside, which he pays no heed to until the doorbell rings. He goes to answer it and sees a bushy-haired woman in a leather jacket, her bike parked by the porch. His eyes widen. “Mary Magdalene?” When she smiles in confirmation, he holds out a hand. “Uhm. Hi. I’m John – ”

“I know who you are, silly. Hosanna can’t stay out of the news of late.”

“We won’t be in the news much longer, probably,” he says as she enters. “We’re, uh. We’re breaking up. Calling it quits.”

Her face is sad but not surprised. “Was it good while it lasted?”

He gives her a half-smile. “I enjoyed some of it. I regret none of it.” He looks briefly over his shoulder. “Wish I could say the same for all of us.”

Cut to Mary entering the living room with John, where the rest are still gathered. She and Jesus throw their arms around each other. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner,” she says, voice rough with unshed tears as she pulls back. “I was away on vacation, living in ignorance, and I come back to find that – you nearly died and – ”

“Please don’t feel bad,” he pleaded. “We all fucked up. You had nothing to do with it.”

“I should have been there. It’s bad enough that…that I abandoned you…”

“You didn’t abandon anyone,” said James. “Now more than ever, these guys need someone who _isn’t_ a mess. You did the right thing, walking away when you did.”

“I don’t know that they need me now. They got you.” Mary smiled and wiped her eyes.

“The more the merrier, I say.” Simon laid a hand on her shoulder, another on James’. “Can always use an extra functioning human being.”

MARY’S VOICEOVER: “The band cut their ties with Roma Records, paying off whatever they owed. Which left them kinda broke. But they did walk away with a handful of songs that would be released as singles many years later on the internet, and finally pay off in royalties."

This bit of narrative runs over sseveral grainy photos from news reports and unauthorised biographies showing the band members flanking the perpetually smug-looking Annas, with captions reading _‘Before the breakup’_ and ‘ _The dirty secrets exposed by hard rock’s loudest and lewdest’._

MARY’S VOICEOVER: “After a brief reign as one of the world’s most notorious bands, the months that followed finally toppled Hosanna from our throne. _That_ honour quickly went to Guns ‘N Roses.”

A brief montage of tabloid spreads shows Slash, Axl and company gracing a news flash with the caption ‘Most Dangerous Band In The World’, followed by a handheld-cam scene of Axl tumbling out of a car and punching a parking attendant.

Cut to Simon, Jesus and Peter getting into a car, James at the wheel. Mary follows behind on her bike.

MARY’S VOICEOVER: “By the end of 1988, they were clean and out of rehab. Three years later, Hosanna had a place in the Hall of Fame.”

The scene transitions to a shiny black plaque hanging on a wall in the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame displayed next to memorabilia, including a drumstick with Mary’s autograph, a bong pipe from one of the band’s infamous post-show orgies, and a Washburn guitar with a snapped neck and shattered body. Next to it is a black-and-white photo of Peter smashing the guitar on stage as Simon cheers with raised fists.

Cut to Mary on her bike outside the Hall, putting on her helmet as she looks into the camera. “We never did attend the ceremony, though.” She smiles, flips down her visor and rides off.

Transition to a blazing montage of headlines, posters, billboards and marquees announcing _‘FIRST & LAST REUNION TOUR’_, _‘TOGETHER AT LAST’_ , and _‘Hosanna’s ORIGINAL LINEUP on stage together for the FIRST TIME since ‘86’._ A cover of Hit Parader magazine bears a blurb in bright magenta: _‘Coming clean! Hosanna’s trial by fire + exclusive scoop on the much awaited reunion’._

In a darkened stadium, a sea of heads and hands stretch endlessly on, dotted by glimmers of upheld lighters. The murmur of excitement builds into a crescendo as the first stage lights flicker on and off and on again, teasing and drawing a smattering of screams. A minute more passes. Two minutes, four, six. And then the screaming begins in earnest as the sound of Mary’s drums bang out a steady, thunderous beat. Jesus’ bass line follows with a foreshadowing of grit and desperation. Someone in the crowd shrieks his name.

After what seems like an eternity, Simon’s voice pierces the night in a low stage whisper.

_“Get away without borders  
I’m a slave to the new world order  
I guess I chose to be  
I guess you chose to be  
I guess we chose to be_

_All that first-class jet set brings me down, down, down  
All those first-class drugs will bring you down, down, down  
Dow-ow-ow-ow-ow-ownnn…”_

The lights go on full blast. The crowd goes wild as the voices of Hosanna come together for the chorus.

_“It's a big machine, it's a big machine  
We're all slaves to a big machine  
It's a big machine, it's a big machine  
All tied up to a big machine  
Got houses, got cars  
Got money in the bank!”  
_

Ten songs in, they break into a familiar frantic melody, electric notes harmonizing in a relentless whine as the audience roars in recognition.

_“How do you document real life  
when real life’s getting more like fiction each day?  
How do you write a song when the words sound wrong  
Though they once sounded right and rare?”  
_

The three guitarists stand at the edge of the stage, playing and moving as one to raucous cheers, before Judas and Jesus take the mic for the next verse.

_“How do you leave the past behind  
When it keeps finding ways to get to your heart?  
It reaches way deep down and tears you inside out  
till you’re torn apart”_

Midway through the song, the fans are given yet more fuel for their fire when a surprise guest appears: John, wielding a cherry-red Ibanez, his face as radiant as the brightest spotlight. He and Judas face off in a fierce back-and-forth solo that goes on for nearly ten minutes before the rest of the band re-emerges.

Cut to a music store where recordings of the live show in both video, vinyl and CDs are flying off the shelves. The sleeve cover is a simple flat crimson with _HOSANNA: ‘STILL ALIVE’ REUNION TOUR_ _’93_ printed in bold silver and black.

Cut to a woman’s hands flipping through the booklet that comes with the limited edition, full of backstage photos and original handwritten lyrics scanned from scraps of paper and Simon’s wrinkled notebooks. The same hands reach for the video tape to remove it from its sleeve. A card tumbles out with a message written on it:

_See you at your next show. Here’s our last one. Still missing you ;)  
Your loving ex,  
Mary  
_

Joan Jett smiles fondly as she reads the message before turning to her bandmates, tape in hand. “Hey guys? I know what we’re watching tonight.”

The scene goes black as text appears over it.

 _THE END_

_…and new beginnings_

Fade in with the jingling of a bell coming from a large van with cheerfully gaudy blue and orange stripes. It drives through a somewhat grimy street in which it looks hopelessly out of place. The kids are delighted, though, their mean narrow faces lighting up as they gather around it. As a plump middle-aged man alights to hand out ice cream for pennies, Peter pokes his head out the driver’s window and waves at the children.

  
TEXT: _This was the only vehicle Peter could ever bring himself to drive. He eventually expanded to a chain of ice cream trucks. A few of his regular customers would join the company as drivers themselves. Whenever they could afford to, they gave away ice cream for free._

The shot moves past a crumbling wall to reveal another scene in an indoor theatre space. In a glow of dim blue lights complementing her theatrical eye makeup, Mary sings while beating out a moody rhythm on her drums.

_“_ _Baby, you come knocking on my front door  
Same old line you used to use before  
That's the game, well, what am I supposed to do?  
I didn't know what I was getting into”_

The shot pulls out to show Judas with his low-slung Les Paul joining in the chorus, with John playing on his left as the lights shift and brighten.

_“So you've had a little trouble in town  
Now you're keeping some demons  
Stop dragging my  
Stop dragging my –  
Stop dragging my heart around”  
_

TEXT: _Mary, John and Judas would go on to have solo careers while sometimes collaborating with other artistes. In the 10 years following Hosanna’s breakup, they performed together twice, each time to sold-out venues._

The shot moves seamlessly to another scene where sunlight slants through a slightly dusty window on a lazy afternoon. Judas is reading on a sofa, smoke languidly coiling from a cigarette in his other hand. Jesus has fallen asleep with head on his lap, his own book having tumbled to his side. The song from the previous scene continues playing over a nearby radio.

_“_ _It's hard to think about what you've wanted  
It's hard to think about what you've lost  
This doesn't have to be the big ‘get even’  
This doesn't have to be anything at all”_

Jesus stirs and stretches, cat-like, lapsing back into slumber with a contented sound as Judas strokes his hair.

TEXT: _Jesus and Judas finally discovered what a healthy relationship is like. They still fought often, but mainly over what to watch on movie nights, or whether pineapple belongs on pizza._

The scene moves past a wall and emerges in the interior of a bookstore lines with tall well-aged wooden shelves, on which an eclectic array of books are appealingly if haphazardly arranged. Much more organized is the vintage vinyl collection adorning the walls stretching out beside and behind the counter, where we see James unboxing a stack of erotic magazines.

TEXT: _James quit the music industry to become the owner of a store selling used books and interesting reads. The more stimulating types of material – not all of them literary – were accessible in the back storeroom, with the right password._

The scene moves out of the bookstore and several blocks down, where a sign with the letters ‘12 UTD’ hangs over a brick-walled shop lot. Jesus enters the scene and pushes open a black wooden door; the shot follows him through a narrow corridor and into a small but well-lit studio where John is plucking out some funk-heavy licks on his guitar as Mary complements the melody with a heavy syncopated beat.

TEXT: _Mary, Jesus and John collaborated on two albums together as the band Twelve Utd, released under their own independent label of the same name. Their music is said to have been an influence on the White Stripes, formed five years after their second album was released._

_The record label remained after they went their separate ways and enjoyed a close relationship with the artistes signed under their company._

The setting shifts to a reality show stage lit in shades of purple and magenta, the reality show logo ‘Stars In Their Eyes’ flashing on the backdrop screen. The familiar figure of the Hosanna frontman steps out to loud cheers, in signature leather and eyeliner with stiff upswept hair.

A closer shot reveals him to be an amateur but very skilled impersonator belting the opening lines of ‘You’ve Got Another Thing Coming’. The real Simon is grinning in amusement and applauding from the jury panel that includes a Broadway performer and two soap opera stars. “I think he’s excellent, don’t you?” he says to one of them. “An entirely unbiased observation.”

TEXT: _Simon joined a panel of celebrity judges for one season of a reality show where members of the public impersonate showbiz stars. He’s still teased mercilessly about it by his former bandmates._

Cut to a tight shot of Simon’s face with goggles on and a wide, mad grin, wind whipping his cheeks and hair. Pull out to show him at the door of an airplane wearing nothing but a parachute. He flashes a peace sign at the camera and falls out into the open sky, shouting something equal parts triumphant and lewd.

TEXT: _He also joined an air-sports society that specialized in synchronized nude skydiving, and would continue to be an active member until the age of 52._

Simon hovers amid a group of equally unclothed skydivers and reaches for a group of five men and women wearing parachutes in the same briht blue as his, forming a patchwork of skin-coloured pixels. The shot zooms right into Simon’s own pixelated area and the screen goes black as raucous electric riffs take over and bold titles appear in the centre.

_**DISASTER SUPERSTARS**  
**The story of a rock & roll explosion**  
_

(SONG PLAYING OVER CREDITS)

_“Skydive naked from an aeroplane  
or a lady with a body from outer space  
My heart, my heart  
Kickstart my heart  
Say I got trouble, trouble in my eyes  
I'm just looking for another good time  
My heart, my heart  
Kickstart my heart!”_

Cut to a reprise scene where the six band members are having shawarma at a small Turkish diner. It’s late and there are only two other patrons, an elderly couple who are paying no heed to the abundance of teased hair and studded leather seated right across them.

TEXT ON SCREEN:  
_1993  
__After the last show of the reunion tour_

“So this is what after-parties look like for retired rock stars,” Judas remarks. Next to him, Simon frowns as he peels open his pita wrap. “Dang, I thought I said no onions!”

“I think that one’s mine,” says Peter, exchanging plates with Simon. John is already biting into his wrap with relish, a good half of it gone within the minute. In his enthusiasm he accidentally nudges the falafel meatball on his plate, sending it rolling off the table. “Whoops,” he exclaims through a mouthful of spiced meat. Simon’s head disappears under the table and reappears seconds later with the meatball, taking a hearty bite.

“That’s gross,” says Jesus. Mary wrinkles her nose. “Did you seriously pick it off the floor?”

“Yeah. Isn’t there some kind of rule about bacteria not being able to latch on if you remove it fast enough?”

“Pretty sure the bacteria from _this_ floor is extra fast,” says Peter. Simon just shrugs and devours the rest of the falafel before reaching for more on their shared platter. Judas quickly pulls it away from him. “You’re not allowed to touch our food anymore.”

“Oh, come _on_ – ”

The screen goes back to black.

(SONG CONTINUES)

_“Kickstart my heart Hope it never stops  
Oh, yeah, baby_

_When we started this band  
All we needed, needed was a laugh  
Years gone by, I'd say we've kicked some ass  
When I'm enraged _

_Or hitting the stage  
Adrenaline rushing Through my veins  
And I'd say we're still kicking ass…”_

As the song fades, these last words appear surrounded by the band members’ signatures.

_In memory of Luke_

_Thank you for being our saving grace_

* * *

**\- APPENDIX -**

Taken from the biography on which this film is based

~

**ORIGINS: LIFE BEFORE STARDOM**

(Individuals are listed in chronology of the band’s formation)

**Judas** _  
_ grew up as the only child of wealthy but neglectful parents, and dropped out of a prestigious university where he was studying finance and law to pursue his dreams of being a rock musician. When his parents found out, they cut off his allowance (and access to his trust fund), but not before he managed to kit out a small rented house with some basic gear and buy a used Les Paul guitar. He'd been in and out of several bands while working part-time in a record store when he met Jesus at a diner on a rainy evening, the former waiting tables part-time. Judas' increasingly regular patronage and their growing chemistry led to them being lovers as well as bandmates.

 **Jesus** _  
_ was raised by a struggling single mom and spent most of his teenage years in an apartment in the slums. He stole his first guitar in pursuit of his love for music from an older man with whom he was in a semi-coercive relationship while still a minor. Following this was a series of difficult or abusive relationships. He had just broken up with a guy with whom he used to share his apartment, and was moonlighting as a waiter to pay rent when he met Judas. Together they would become Hosanna’s founding members.

 **Mary** _  
_ had a comfortable, happy childhood before her father gambled the family’s mortgage away, leading to a divorce and her mom uprooting her and three other siblings to start afresh. At her new school, troubled by this upheaval, she became a ringleader of a notorious girl gang before finding a better outlet for her anger in music and the school band. She and Jesus were schoolmates; they would be reunited when he needed a drummer for his band and contacted her.

 **Peter** _  
_ A naïve small-town boy who would have been content to settle for a decent job and a family had it not been for an impulsive big-city adventure that would become a fateful trip. He loves animals, having spent a few years of his childhood on a farm, and briefly had dreams of owning a horse ranch. By pure chance, he met Mary in a pub with barely any money in his pocket and accepted her invitation to audition for the band she was in.

 **Simon** _  
_ was a troublemaker and class clown in school who struggled with self-esteem issues stemming from being the youngest child in a family of high-achieving siblings. He made up for his insecurities with the pursuit of risky activities, a habit he would find hard to shake in his later years. He ended up joining Hosanna by responding to a flyer ad stuck on a lamppost because he was convinced he had nothing to lose.

 **Luke** _  
_ A good-natured, mild-mannered session drummer and industry veteran. He came from a perfectly average family of an accountant dad and a schoolteacher mom, securing a partial scholarship to pursue a music education after graduating from an all-boys’ school. He had worked with, toured and partied with some of the most infamous acts of the era, and was content to live a more laidback life at the time we meet him.

 **John** _  
_ Sweet-natured, passionate and hardworking, the band’s newest member hailed from a wholesome if somewhat conservative upper-middle class family. His father disapproved of his flamboyant style experiments and the influence of the hard rock music he loved, but his mom remained supportive. He was a fan of Hosanna and was ecstatic to live his dream when he nailed the audition to replace Judas as lead guitarist.

~

 **SIGNATURE INSTRUMENTS**

**Judas** : custom black Gibson Les Paul 1972

 **Jesus** : pearl-white Fender Jazz bass with black pickguard

 **Mary:** Tama Imperialstar kit with silver drum shells

 **Peter:** Washburn PS600 with blue burst finish

 **Luke:** Ludwig Classic Birch drum kit

 **John:** Ibanez Artstar with brown sunburst finish

*** * ***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LYRICS TAKEN FROM  
> Big Machine (Velvet Revolver), modified slightly for this context  
> Rent (Rent: the musical)  
> Stop Dragging My Heart Around (Stevie Nicks & Tom Petty)  
> Kickstart My Heart (Motley Crue)
> 
> NOTES:  
> (1) Axl Rose getting into a scuffle with a parking attendant was a real incident in Philadelphia in 1988 during their Appetite For Destruction tour. ‘The Most Dangerous Band In The World’ was a moniker that would become the title of their biopic in 2016.
> 
> (2) ‘Stars In Their Eyes’ is a reality show in which contestants sing as and impersonate famous musicians. Voting is done via the studio audience, and only one episode in 1990 had a panel of judges, so this is one instance where I made up facts because fuck it
> 
> (3) The bonus shawarma scene is directly inspired by the end credits scene from the iconic 2012 Avengers movie. (Pleasant coincidence: it’s the same year of my favourite JCS production and the cast this biopic is based on.)
> 
> (4) The instruments listed are period-accurate and also wielded by various famous musicians in rock. E.g. Jesus’ white Fender Jazz bass, later renamed the Fender Precision, would become Duff McKagan (of Guns N’ Roses)’s signature guitar; the Washburn PS600 comes from a line co-designed by Paul Stanley of KISS, who himself played Washburn guitars for most of his career. Lars Ulrich of Metallica uses Tama Imperialstar drums; the company sold the entire kit as a signature set in the ‘90s.

**Author's Note:**

> LYRICS TAKEN FROM
> 
> Rent (Rent: the musical)  
> You've Got Another Thing Coming (Judas Priest)
> 
> ~
> 
> The hotel room curtain incident was lifted directly from the same Motley Crue biography that inspired the style of this fic


End file.
